A/N: These stories are slightly AU as I started writing them before the HP books 6 & 7 were published.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters you recognize nor the world they live in. I only borrowed them to amuse myself.

A New Life Begins

"Mommy! Mommy! Look!" The little boy called excited, standing on tip-toes to gaze into the glass tank on the dusty shelf.

A small slightly harried looking women stepped up behind the boy: "What is it Maravill?"

"Look! Is it dead?" he asked breathlessly, watching the sole occupant in the glass-container with morbid fascination.

"Eew!" the women wrinkled her nose in disgust and tried to coax her son away: "Come on Villie, let's have a look at the cats! They are sooo much more fun."

But the boy stubbornly shook his head, and refused to take his eyes from the lifeless toad on display in the aquarium.

It was a nice tank, at least for a toad; filled with plants of all sorts, an artificial pond and a magically regulated climate to provide ideal living conditions for toads, frogs and the like. And in the middle of this little amphibian paradise lay a large green-brownish toad, pale underbelly up, all extremities stretched wide away from its body.

Failing to interest her son in one of the shop's more alive inhabitants the mother of little Maravill strode briskly to the counter, where an elderly witch was preparing a nutrition-food-mixture for baby owls.

"There's a dead toad in the tank over there." She hissed "That's disgusting!!! Especially in a shop frequented by lot's of children. Maybe I should report you to the ministerial subdivision for animal protection. You shouldn't let your beasts rot in their cages!!! That's downright barbaric!"

The elderly witch threw a bored glance into the direction the enraged customer had indicated. "Calm down, lass. No need to get kittens." She drawled and awkwardly stepped from behind the counter, stripping away her dragon-hide gloves, sullied by a vile mix of mashed meat pieces and oat flakes. She shuffled towards the container in question and stopped behind the boy.

"He ain't dead." She declared after only a casual glance at the toad.

"Yes, he is!" Maravill disagreed petulantly.

The witch, whose name-tag identified her as 'Brendine' sneered at the kid. She had always preferred animals to children. They didn't talk back – usually.

"Watch." She commanded and rapped her knuckles smartly against the thick glass.

Nothing.

"I told you! Maravill crowed triumphantly "it's dead!"

Brendine ignored him and knocked again, addressing the toad: "You can stop pretending. I know that you are very much alive."

Nothing.

The witch folded her arms and impatiently drummed her fingers on her upper-arm: "I'm not fooled, boy. I'm not gonna take you out of your container."

Again – nothing.

But wait!

First the left hind-leg twitched ever so slightly. Then, after a moment, the whole toad flipped over, glaring at the people looking at him.

"Oh!" the boy sighed, sounding rather disappointed.

The boy's mother stared shocked at the zombie toad, first turning pale and then red, obviously embarrassed for making such a fuss over nothing. She gripped her child, mumbled a quiet farewell and dragged her protesting boy towards the exit.

"I want to see the other animals! You said I could choose a rat ……..! he wailed.

"Another time, Villie. What do you think about an ice-ream …"

That was the last that Brendine could hear, before the door fell close behind the pair. "Brat." The witch muttered under her breath, than turned around when she heard someone chuckling.

It was a rather small, wiry man with a thin moustache and equally thin brown hair. Rather unremarkable, but for the obvious sparkle of amusement and mischief lightening up his eyes. "That was awfully funny."

Brendine shrugged noncomittical, but a smile tugged at her thin lips.

The man came over and eyed the brownish toad: "I have never seen a toad acting like this before."

"He's special." Brendine answered, gazing fondly at the animal.

The man seemed interested, a rarity, as toads were considered unfashionable and dull in to-day's wizarding world. Expecting potion brewers, who appreciated pickled toad-eyes as an unproblematic, multifunctional ingredient. And Brendine would never sell an animal to one of those.

"Why was he playing dead-toad?" the man inquired "I presume he didn't do it only to fluster that poor women."

"Ah." This time Brendine smiled a real smile. "Our boy has an unquenchable desire for adventure. Over time he has become some kind of escape-king. He found out that the only way to get out of the cage for an animal is to be bought, sick or dead. And as toads aren't in demand and sickness is harder to fake, he apparently decided that death was the ticket to heaven, so to speak."

"The first time he pulled this stunt, we had to close the shop and chase him over an hour before we caught him. The second time our apprentice wanted to feed his assumed corpse to our snakes and carried him into our food depot, from where he vanished.

We rediscovered him three days later sleeping in the basket of the shop-owners pet cat."

The man raised both eyebrows in a comical fashion (probably because he couldn't manage to raise only one) and sniggered: "I gather the cat was pretty harassed."

"Quite." Agreed Brendine snickering likewise.

Suddenly the man leaned forward, tapped at the tank and started to baby-talk: "Who is a pretty toad? Who is? Yes, you are!"

The toad threw him a disgusted glance, then uncerimously turned around to show the humans his blank posterior. Making it clear, that talk such as this was beneath its dignity.

The man laughed loudly at the toad's attitude: "He is quite the character! I like him."

"He is quite a hand full." Brendine admitted.

"I am looking for a pet for my nephew." The man informed Brendine, twirling the few strands of his moustache "He would be perfect."

"May I ask how old your nephew is?"

"He's eleven. He just got his invitation letter from Hogwarts. We are all very proud of him and I thought a pet would be the ideal present for this occasion."

"Hm, eleven. Don't you think an owl or even a rat would be a better choice for the boy? Youth considers them cool."

"Neville will like the toad. Besides, what can possibly be more wicked than a toad who can drop dead at will?"

There was nothing that Brendine could possibly say to that.

She opened the cover of the tank and reached for the toad. The amphibian dithered excitedly as it was freed from its prison, carried through the shop – only to be put into a cardboard box with breathing holes.

He quacked resentfully.

"Shush, boy!" Brendine said "Finally someone bought you. A new live begins for you." With that she closed the lid of the box.

***

For some time the toad was jumbled and rumbled about in it's dark narrow box, which was rather exciting. Then his transport-container was placed somewhere and the toad's world became very still, expect for the cacophony of what seemed hundreds of voices talking all over each other.

Getting bored by the darkness of his space-limited confinement and listening to disembodied voices, too jumbled together to make sense of them, the toad decided to do something about it: He jumped, hitting his head at the top of the box, but succeeding in moving the carton a few millimetres.

Pleased with himself, he repeated the process until he heard a stern, female voice, who apparently had seen the box move, raising over all the others: "By Morgana, Algie! What in the world is in that box? I hope it is not any more irish pixies."

Now a male voice, which belonged to the man that had bought him, answered in mock outrage: "I wouldn't!" and after a short pause he added: "That's old news, I already brought them last Christmas."

"Exactly" the women answered "poor Afgahna's hair is still pink and Archiebald still hasn't rediscovered his prized selection of Scottish and Irish whiskeys. Nor will he anytime soon, I suspect."

One could practically hear the man's, Algie's, grin as he replied: "Never fear, dear Augusta. It has been fun, but I don't play the same prank twice. No, in here" he gripped the box and carried it a few paces "is a present for our new Hogwarts student. Here boy! You can take it, I promise it will not bite. Don't shake it."

The toad listened attentively as someone fumbled with the box and than slowly lifted the lid as if he expected the box to blow into his face. He looked up expectantly and faced a sweet looking boy who cautiously peered into the box. His round face broke into a delighted smile when he discovered the occupant of the crate.

The boy reached into the box and carefully lifted the animal out. "A toad." He whispered in awe "Thank you, uncle Algie. It's beautiful."

The amphibian preened proudly, fully aware that he was the centre of attention in a room full of wizards, who had obviously gathered to celebrate his arrival.

The boy, who held him gently, petted his cold slick skin. It was rather nice. He could definitely get used to it.

"He doesn't have a name yet." The man who had bought him spoke up "You'll have to think of something, Neville."

The boy scrunched up his good-natured, round face in thought.

"What do you think about 'Princesa'?" a grey-haired women with sharp features proposed.

The toad croaked indignantly in protest and Algie scoffed: "Honestly, Augusta! It's a toad not some spoilt, fat kitty! Besides, it is a boy and quite the adventurer, I am told. Something like 'Killer' would be more appropriate."

The two seemed ready to go into a full-fledged fight over the name issue, when Neville spoke up: "I think I'll call him Trevor."

"After the third Supreme Mugwumpin wizard history." The women observed.

"After the gremlin, who set fire on minister Fudge's bowler hat." The man laughed.

"Good choice!" They chorused.

Trevor the toad.

It had a certain ring to it – he liked it.

Trevor jumped excitedly in Neville's palm. He had a name, a boy of his own and a live full of adventure in front of him.

Life was going to be good.

~End~